Vices
by allihavetodoisdream
Summary: A struggling girl lives a colorless life. Until it all changes and her world is filled with neon-bright color. She soon gets swept away in the luxury and glamour of her new life. But everything comes with a price. ExB. Rated M for violence, drug use, language, and sexual content.
1. Chapter 1

**A new story inspired by summer, Miami, glamour, and, of course, Lana Del Rey.**

 **Warnings:**

 **-Age gap between Bella and Edward (because I can't help myself). Bella is 19 and Edward is 31.**

 **-Violence (nothing extreme). Message me if you have concerns.**

 _ **"Come on down to Florida, I got something for ya." -**_ **Lana Del Rey, Florida Kilos**

* * *

 **Preface**

 _There's nothing to do but watch it happen. I know my place—so does everyone else on the boat. Aro makes sure of that._

 _"Do it," he tells Edward, smiling, like it's nothing._

 _To Aro, it isn't._

 _To me, it's everything._

 _Edward's jaw flexes, but he stays silent._

 _"Do it. I won't ask again." Aro pushes the gun against Edward's chest, waiting for him to take it._

 _A part of me is still naïve. A part of me is still the little girl who believes in fairytales, in happy endings and indestructible, incorruptible heroes._

 _A part of me doesn't think he'll actually do it._

 _But he grabs the gun. I watch as he turns towards his friend and shoots him in cold blood. Two in the chest, one in the head, and his life's over._

 _My ears are still ringing from the shots when Jasper and Felix toss the body over the side of the boat._

 _Edward lowers the gun._

 _Aro smiles and clasps him on the shoulder. "There. Good boy." He slips the gun from Edward's hand and glances over the yacht, at everyone who watches with frozen faces and still hearts. "Don't stop enjoying yourselves. This is a party! Where's the music?"_

 _Allie jumps into action, the way she should. She turns The Weeknd up loud, and it's like a spell's been broken. Everyone's heart leaps back to life, and they all go on as before._

 _I stare at Edward, and he stares at nothing._

 _People start moving around again, dancing, laughing, smoking, drinking, as if nothing has changed. But everything has changed, really._

 _I know the moment Edward's eyes finally hit mine._

 _I know it, and I know we can never come back from this._

* * *

 **Chapter One**

Miami is filled with beautiful people.

Beautiful people, white-sand beaches, electric skylines, and irresistible rhythm—that's what this place is made of.

The sunset is when it begins.

The pink-hued sky gets splashed with streaks of brilliant orange and dramatic red, and the sun turns into a wavering gold coin, dipping closer and closer to the soft horizon. The colors slowly shift, turning to electrifying blue and sensual violet.

Then the sky goes dark and the city lights up—comes alive.

There's this bench, right on the strip. It's where I sit. I can feel the gauzy breeze of the ocean from behind me and hear the rush of the water against the shore.

But I'm facing neon buildings and thrilling people.

I watch everything.

It never gets old. It's like my favorite movie, except every night, it's a little bit different. There are new clothes, new cars, new boys. New walks and new talks. New colors and rhythms.

I can't get enough.

This becomes the best part of my sun-bleached days and faded life. It becomes the reason why I get up in the morning.

It's everything to me.

But I just watch. I don't partake—of course not. Maybe one day, when I'm older and richer and more confident. Now, though, I just sit on my bench and eat ice cream cones and imagine what life would be like if I were living in such vibrant color.

Soon, I won't have to imagine.

I'll know.

* * *

"Jesus, Bella. What are you doing just standing there? There are orders waiting to be served!"

I find myself face-to-neck with Demetri. The veins around his throat are bulging. I don't have to look up into his eyes to know they're crazed and that he's only a few seconds away from firing me.

"Sorry," I mumble, ducking towards the counter. I load my tray up and shoot across the checkered tile, handing out plates of steaming burgers and crispy fries. Most everyone looks at me with pity. Any regular at Demetri's Diner knows how hotheaded he is. It's a miracle I've lasted this long as an employee.

"Chop, chop, Bella!" he calls before throwing up a sweet smile for the customer waiting at the register.

* * *

I know it's bad.

I don't do bad things. Ever.

But this is an exception.

I blow a cloud of smoke past my chapped lips, hunkered over in the alley behind the diner. This is what I do on my breaks. I escape out here, among the broken cartons and dinged dumpsters, and I blacken my lungs.

It helps my nerves.

* * *

When I get home, if I'm not too tired, I dance.

I don't really know if I'm any good. I have rhythm and natural sway, but I don't take actual classes—I've never had the courage to do that. I just stay content with watching videos online, over and over, until I pop my hips and roll my body the same way they do.

It's what I do to relax, to quiet my buzzing mind—or to at least turn the buzzing into white noise.

When my muscles are tired and achy, when I'm sweaty and sleepy, I take a bath and go to sleep.

I never tell a soul.

* * *

"You look… um, tired."

I cut my eyes over to Angela.

She smiles to soften the blow. "Maybe you should get some rest."

"I'll rest when I know I have the internship," I murmur, pedaling lazily on my bike.

We coast down the streets, early-morning fog rolling in from the ocean. It's relatively quiet this time of day. Everyone is still sleeping from the wild parties they had the night before. It's the perfect time for Angela and I to make our mad dash to campus before rush hour hits and we get run over.

"You've got the internship," Angela says, scoffing.

"I hope."

"You've been killing yourself for Newton for the past two semesters—getting his coffee, practically wiping his butt. And you're the smartest girl in his class. I know that for a fact."

I roll my eyes and smile. "Yeah, right."

"I'm serious, Bella. No one gets finance like you. It's, like, your thing."

 _Just what I always wanted my_ thing _to be_ , I think, but I don't say it aloud. There's no point in being negative. That's what my Dr. Phil-loving mom says, anyway.

* * *

I don't always blacken my lungs alone.

Rosalie Hale joins me in sequined skirts and daring bra tops. She brings with her the smell of cigarettes and hairspray and a world I've never known. She shakes out her messy blonde waves and bats her starlet eyes, pretending we aren't night-and-day different.

And between shared cigarettes and clouds of smoke, we aren't.

We're two girls trying to pay for school—we just do it in very different ways.

We always meet in the alley behind Eclipse. It isn't so far that I don't hear the steady beat of seductive music or smell the liquor and expensive perfume.

Even staring at the back side of the club, where the walls are flat-black brick, I know it's a universe away from mine. I know that behind those walls are light and life.

* * *

"There's Rosalie Hale."

I don't have to glance up to know what I'll see: Rose and Allie gliding across the quad, dressed in clothes a little too tight and shoes a little too high.

I don't bother ever saying hello to Rose, not when we're at school. Our worlds don't converge here. There's no sense in upsetting the natural balance of the cliques.

"Did you hear me?" Angela presses.

"Yeah," I murmur, scribbling neat notes in the margins of my textbook.

"I swear she does more than strip."

"She's not a stripper, Ang. She's an exotic dancer."

"Okay, even if she doesn't take it all off, she dances on a pole, Bella. _A pole_. In spiky high heels. She probably twerks to Iggy Azalea." Angela shudders and pretends not to harbor any jealousy.

I just roll my eyes.

"But seriously, Bells. I hear she does a little extra on the side." Angela arches her neat brows and leans into me. "I heard she's part of an escort service—and Allie Brandon is, too."

"Those are just rumors."

"Those girls have a lot of money, Bella. You can't deny that. Do you see the kind of cars they drive? The clothes they wear?"

"Their families could be rich."

Angela just scoffs. "Yeah, right."

* * *

"Phil's doing better. But the doctor bills are coming—they're insane. And then he has to go to physical therapy every week to get his shoulder right again, so that's even more money. I honestly don't know what we're going to do," Mom tells me over the phone.

I watch the popcorn bag grow bigger as it spins in my microwave. "Insurance isn't helping?"

"Helping a little, but we're drowning already. I just don't know… I don't even know why I'm worrying you with all this, honey. I'm sorry. Let's talk about something. Tell me about Professor Newton. How's the internship looking?"

I frown, but there's no deterring my mother. Once she's decided there will be a subject change, it's just the way it is. "It's fine."

"Just fine?"

"Yeah. It's… fine," I say, unable to find a new word. My brain's too tired.

Mom pauses. It doesn't even take her freakish motherly instincts to pick up on my misery. "Are you okay, sweetie? I feel like we haven't talked enough lately. You should come up this weekend. I can come pick you up. We can just unwind."

"I can't, Mom. I'm sorry." I sigh and rub at my gritty-feeling eyes. "I have to work this weekend."

"All weekend?"

"Yeah."

Mom's the one sighing now. She does that more and more lately. "I don't like that man you work for. He treats you like a dog. I wish you could get a better job. Actually, I wish you didn't have to work at all. I wish you could just focus on your school work."

"I know, but it's not so bad," I lie. I'm too tired to make it sound all that convincing, though.

"I wish we had more money," Mom tells me.

She's never said that before. She's always been too much of a free-spirit bent on the world's currency being _love_.

But colleges don't accept love as payment.

* * *

The energy is frantic tonight, so many people, so many cars—so much laughter and smiling and talking and walking. I get dizzy watching it all, trying to see everything and everyone.

It's a constant cycle, an ever-changing cast and crew with new props. It switches every five minutes and I try not to miss a thing.

Rose sashays down the Strip around midnight, headed for Eclipse. Her dress is tight and sequined, and she shimmers in the neon-cool lights. People turn their head to watch her go. They let their eyes linger just a little longer to see if she'll smile again or flip her hair.

I wonder what it's like, to look like that, to carry that kind of magnetism.

* * *

My face falls slowly, along with my heartbeat.

"You're not giving me the internship," I repeat calmly. Everything goes numb like a shot of Novocain to my entire system.

"Yes, that's right." Professor Newton stares at me carefully, his baby blues dancing with mistrust. "I'm sorry, Bella. It's just… you aren't the right fit for this job."

"I've worked with you for a whole year," I whisper. "I've run errands for you. I've graded papers for you. I've done everything you asked. You told me last week that the job… that it was _mine_."

"I think you might have, ah…" Professor Newton mashes his stubby fingers together and purses nonexistent lips. "I think you might have misunderstood."

"Misunderstood." All I can do is repeat words.

"Yes."

I'm nodding, my mouth dry.

"I really do regret this, Bella. You're a very bright girl. I hope you'll continue trying to get into the program. I know you'll do great things in the world of finance."

"Great things," I whisper.

Professor Newton shines with a rainbow-sheen of sweat. He mops his forehead and offers a twitchy, impatient smile. "Well, I hate to rush you out, but I have a lecture in ten minutes—"

"Who?" I ask. "Who got the job?"

Professor Newton hesitates. "Ah, well, I really shouldn't—"

"Who got it?"

He blinks and pushes at his glasses. "Jessica Stanley."

Jessica Stanley, who's only real area of expertise is giving head—or so I've heard.

My stomach turns as I realize what happened.

A year of working my butt off was gone as soon as Jessica unzipped Professor Newton's fly.

Poof.

Just like that.

"Fuck," I say. It's the first time I've ever said it aloud, and it feels good.

Professor Newton clears his throat, surprised at my profanity. "I'm sorry, Miss Swan. Really. It's unfortunate."

Unfortunate.

Unfortunate that I didn't get acquainted with the head he obviously makes his decisions with, I guess.

"I can give you recommendations for other jobs this summer, of course."

I look up at him, at his blue button-down. There are dark stains beneath the armpits—sweat stains. And he's wearing this horrible tie. It's terribly red. Fiercely, glaringly red.

I think of screaming, of throwing things.

But I don't because I'm still too much of a good girl.

So all I can think to say is, "Your tie is ugly," and then I get up and leave.

* * *

"Bella! Jesus Christ. Are you brain-dead?" Demetri demands, waving his thick hand in front of my face.

I blink and stare up at him, lost in my spiraling thoughts.

That internship was _everything_. It would get my foot in the door. Not only that, it would keep me from lapsing into utter poverty.

Mom and Dad were already paying on loans. Dad dips from his retirement savings. Mom works a second job.

Just to pay for my college education.

I work full-time, myself.

I live off ramen noodles and steal my neighbor's Wi-Fi and have no life. I do it all for my college education. And it was supposed to pay off. This internship was supposed to come through. It would give me work and money all summer. It would help me network. And then maybe, just maybe, I could afford next year's tuition, because the banks weren't going to let us take out any more money.

"Bella!"

I jump, my ears ringing with Demetri's scream.

"Get moving," he growls.

So I do. This job is all I have left.

* * *

I cry myself to sleep, and I skip classes the next day.

What's the point?

I'm going to have to quit school anyway. Scholarships and financial aid only got me so far. And the University of Miami isn't going to be very moved by my sob story.

* * *

I'm crying as I sit on my bench.

No one really notices, though. People are always doing strange things on the Strip at night. Maybe someone actually thinks I've done something halfway interesting, like drugs or fight with my boyfriend.

Then I see her—Rose—and she really _is_ doing something interesting.

She struts down the sidewalk in six-inch heels, never once wobbling, because she's got it down to a science.

She's on the arm of a gray-headed man. She gives him the same thousand-watt smile as she does the other men I've seen her entertaining, and she's got him—he's captivated.

I watch her lead him into the club and then they're gone.

Eclipse's sign is hot pink and neon. The glow it gives off seems to brighten in my curious eyes. It grows lighter and lighter, until a bulb flickers on inside my head, and that's it.

This is where it starts.

* * *

 **Despite most stories I write, I want this one to be fairly low angst. It won't be a perfect world because that'd be boring, but I don't foresee any rip-your-heart-out pain. This is just something I wanted to write while it's nice and hot, something fun and a little dangerous. ;)**

 **Let me know any questions you have so far, pretty please!**

 **Thank you to Kim for being the best beta... EVER. Thank you to Time Lights and Romy for being amazingly talented and making banners for this story. (Time Lights' banner is the cover photo on here. If you want to see Romy's lovely work, hop on Facebook and see them there).**

 **If you'd like to see images that have inspired this story, go to my author's profile. There won't be any spoilers in the collection, either.**

 **Thank you for reading this far! oxoxoxox**


	2. Chapter 2

**" _We could get high in Miami; dance the night away._ " - Lana**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 ** _A few months later_...**

Neon lights and white couches and shiny black floors and mirrors and smoke and poles and cages. Hundreds of people—jumping, swaying, coming alive with the beat. Tight dresses. High heels. Expensive watches and designer drinks.

The energy is infectious; it twists through the air and seeps in the skin.

I almost get lost in the pulse, in the chaos, in the still-foreign territory.

I step into the mass of grinding dancers and am almost swept away by this, by the movement and energy and wild rhythm. But I catch a glimpse of the bar between sweaty bodies, and the sight keeps me anchored. I cut through neon-tinted air in a mini skirt and stilettos.

I don't even wobble anymore.

"We're out of Patron and grenadine upstairs," I holler over the heavy bass.

"Busy night?" Emmett flashes the grin of a player and the dimples of a little boy. He reaches under the bar to grab the bottles I need.

"Yeah," I say, pushing my sweaty hair off my forehead.

"Good tips?"

I shrug. I have the look for this job, but nothing more. I have sleepy eyes and full lips, but I don't have charm and a silver tongue.

"Here," Emmett says, handing over the booze.

I make my way back through the dancers, up the open stairs, and into a different environment entirely. _Below_ holds the ordinary: the rich, live-fast-die-young crowd, kids high on blow and drunk on vodka. _Above_ entertains a different class of partiers. The second level is the for the royalty: for old men in nice suits, for cigar smokers, smooth talkers, and shady dealers.

It's where the real dancing is.

Rose is taking the stage just as I arrive again. The lights are low and her heels are high. Slow music pulses, a sharp and sudden change from the frantic beat below. I watch as she grabs the pole and swings around it with ease, her long legs lifting.

Rose and Allie are the best. They always look like they're floating as they twist and contort in sensual shapes to sensual music.

It's like an art form beyond the vision I'd had of exotic dancing before.

They never even take off all their clothes, and the men are entranced—sometimes even in love.

"Here," I say to Brady, handing him the grenadine and Patron.

"Thanks, babe." He pours a quick shot of tequila and adds it to my waiting tray. "There."

I grab it and make my way over to a table of grabby men. They coo and murmur to me, but I simply smile a little and wink at one particularly raunchy remark.

It earns me an ass slap and a better tip.

* * *

I catch myself staring at him sometimes, when he's watching the girls dance or glad-handing the richest guests. When he's looking at his phone or staring at nothing.

He's beautiful—all the girls think so. But for me, it's beyond the sharp face and the lean body and the charismatic smiles. It's the way he rolls up his shirtsleeves, the way he winks, the way he never has a fresh-shaven face, the way his short, dark hair is always messy, the intensity of his eyes.

Rosalie teases me, says I have a crush.

I think it's more of a fascination.

Tonight, he catches me staring from across the room. He doesn't smile but he jerks his chin at me. I should look away then, but I don't. And neither does he.

But then a suit-wearing man calls his name, and he finally turns away, his most charming smile appearing.

* * *

"Okay, seriously."

I glance up from my finance book blearily. "What?"

Angela sits across from me in a fold-up chair. The table folds up, too—it comes in handy when I need more space. I get a little claustrophobic sometimes in this one-room hellhole.

"You've been on the same page for an hour," Angela says, motioning to my textbook. "And you look like shit. And you've missed like, four of our German classes."

I roll my eyes. "It's not that big of a deal, Ang. I've just been tired, lately. Kind of burnt out, you know?"

"It _is_ a big deal, Bella. If you miss another German class without a doctor's note, you'll fail." Angela's eyes are wide, like it's the worst thing she can imagine. Maybe it is. Both of her parents are successful psychiatrists, and she comes from a rich family—she doesn't have to worry about bills and tuition or even a job. Her parents pay for it all so she can just focus on her education.

Jealousy stabs at my insides and guilt soon follows, because I know it's not right to feel that way. I know it, but I can't help it.

"I won't miss another class," I mumble, getting up and turning towards the fridge. "Want a Coke? I need caffeine."

"No," Angela huffs. "Bella, seriously, what's going on with you? You're acting so sketchy lately. You never answer your phone anymore. You're always out at night. What are you doing?"

I'm too tired to make up a lie, so I don't. Angela's question hangs in the air, unresolved and ignored.

She slams her book shut. "Whatever, Bella. I'm going."

I don't stop her, even though she wanted us to quiz each other for our German test. I don't try to fix it as she walks out, shutting my apartment door behind her with a sharp bang. I don't call her later that night, either.

I just let her go.

I'm too exhausted to do anything else.

* * *

I count through my tips again.

It's not enough. I'm not making enough.

The dressing room is empty. All the other girls have either gone home or gone off with some of the rich men who watched them dance. I'm alone, so I allow myself the luxury of crying, just a little.

Four months of killing myself serving drinks and getting grabbed and leered at, and I have so little to show for it. All I have is the newfound ability to walk in heels and a comprehensive knowledge of alcoholic beverages.

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hands. I blow my nose. I stare at my tear-blotted face in the lighted wall mirror. I take my hair down and pull it over one eye. I wipe away streaks of runny mascara and try to imagine myself with better makeup. I droop my eyes and pout my lips the way I've seen Rose do onstage.

But it all just looks pathetic, with my baby cheeks and innocent eyes.

"Bella?"

I jump, rattling the vanity and knocking over tubes of lipstick. I glance over to Rose as she hovers in the doorway, her face makeup free and her hair in a loose ponytail.

It surprises me when she looks like this. She almost looks normal—like a regular college girl.

"Hey," I say.

"Are you crying?" she asks, stepping forward.

"No," I say, but ruin the lie by hiding my face.

"What's wrong?" Rose sits down next to me, bumping her leg with mine.

"Nothing." I sniff and wipe my nose before trying to right all the fallen lipstick tubes. "It's nothing. I'm just tired."

"Did one of the customers do something, Bella? Because if they hurt you or something, you need to tell Edward—"

My stomach flip-flops at the mention of his name, but I shake my head and let out a strained little laugh. "No, it's nothing like that. It's stupid, really."

"Come on," she says softly. "Tell me."

I push my hair behind my ears and stare at my little pile of rumpled bills—the pile that's too small to pay for even a month of college. "It's just not enough," I whisper, motioning. "It's not enough to pay for tuition."

Rose wraps her arm around my shoulders and squeezes. I think it's the first time I've felt any physical affection in months—probably since I last saw my mom.

My eyes well up again, and I blink hard to keep more tears from falling.

"When was the last time you had something to eat besides Ramen noodles?" Rose asks me, bumping my shoulder.

I let out a little laugh, wiping at my nose again. "A while."

"Let's go get some real food, then. My treat."

* * *

We go to Waffle House because that's the only place open at five in the morning. I order just a plain waffle at first, but Rose demands I get more.

"It's okay. I'm really not that hungry and—"

"What part of _my treat_ don't you understand, Bella? It's Waffle House, for God's sake. It's not like I'm going to go broke."

So I order a breakfast platter and hash browns, too. When the waitress brings it out, I inhale everything. I swear it's the best thing I've had in years.

"Aro is coming in a few weeks," Rose tells me between bites of an egg-white omelet.

"Who?"

"Our boss, technically."

"I thought Edward was our boss," I mumble around a mouthful of waffle.

Rose shakes her head and pulls her fingers through the ends of her ponytail. "Edward is in charge of us girls—he looks after us, makes sure we get paid, makes sure no one treats us bad. He's the unofficial screener."

"Screener?"

Rose smiles a little. "He decides who's worth Paul's time. Paul owns the club. He's Aro's nephew. Anyway, Edward decides who's worth Paul's time and then Paul decides who's worth Aro's time."

"Time for what?"

Rose arches a brow. "That's a good question—and not one you want to be asking around the club, okay?"

I nod, but my thoughts stir.

I'm not oblivious to the things that go on in the club, even though I act it. I see the wealth and power. I see Rose and Allie and the others leaving with the richest men. I hear the whispers and see the corruption because no one really cares if the cocktail waitress knows anything.

"Anyway, Aro is coming, so just get ready."

"Why do I need to get ready?" I ask.

Rose simply sighs. "You'll see."

* * *

Sometimes, I don't want to go back to reality: to faded walls and a one-room apartment.

Sometimes, I stay at the club, doing homework in the dressing room until it's time for classes. Sometimes, I don't do homework—I try dancing the way Rose does instead.

The first few times I tried, I fell flat on my ass.

I had all kinds of strange bruises for months—then I started getting the hang of it.

I'm still not great, but it doesn't matter. I just do it because…

I don't really know _why_ I do it, honestly.

I just do it to do it.

Tonight, when the club is empty and quiet and the lights are low, I pull myself up the pole. My arms are stronger now—they barely shake.

I try lifting my legs the way I saw Allie do earlier tonight. She did a split midair, with only her hands touching the pole.

My technique isn't as graceful, but I still manage it.

I shut my eyes and let the echoes of dark music fill my thoughts. I loop my legs around the pole and my hands let go. I arch backwards, falling in slow motion until I'm upside down and my hair is brushing the stage. Blood rushes to my head, but it feels just as exhilarating as the sharp pound of my heart.

I spin down lazily before grabbing the pole again and swinging myself up. I twirl through nothing but air, my muscles burning with control.

Then the overhead lights come on, and I lose my momentum.

I gasp, barely catching myself before I fall onto the stage.

Edward leans against the bar and arches his brows at me.

"I'm—I'm sorry," I mumble, pushing my hair behind my ears. My face is on fire as I scramble offstage and grab my backpack. I try to make a run for it.

"Wait."

I pause and glance back at him.

"You're forgetting your shoes," he says, holding up my sneakers. His lips are pressed together a little, like he's trying not to laugh.

I glance down at my bare feet, my cheeks burning. I force myself to walk back over to him and make a grab for my shoes. But he holds onto them until I dare to look up.

"You really shouldn't be in here, you know," he murmurs, carelessly enough that I don't panic.

"Sorry. It won't happen again."

Edward cracks a small, lazy smile, his eyes flickering between mine. I feel like he knows every thought I've ever had.

"You're a cocktail waitress, right?"

I've never been this close to him before, and I'm caught up in details I've never seen: the barely-there freckles he has on his nose, the ocean-green of his eyes, the length of his lashes.

"Yeah," I say quietly.

"Why are you doing that job when you can dance?" he asks, tilting his head. He still hasn't handed over my shoes.

"I can't dance," I blurt, even though I know I can—a little, at least.

"I just saw you." He nods towards the stage.

I shrug because I can't think of anything to say.

"Would you like to be a dancer?"

My eyes flash to his in shock, and I can't help the exhaled laugh I expel.

"What's funny about that? You can dance, a girl just quit, and you look the part." He shrugs like the answer is obvious.

"I look the part?" I murmur shyly, peeping up at him from beneath my lashes.

"You look innocent." Edward's eyes are bright—intense. His gaze is unwavering and I think it should make me feel uncomfortable but it doesn't. "Some guys really like that," he adds quietly.

"Do you?" I don't mean to say it aloud, but once it's out, I don't really wish to take it back.

He merely gives the ghost of a suggestive smile and shrugs again. "I like it. It's kind of rare around here."

I can't think of anything to say to that, and he obviously doesn't care to add to it, so we lapse into silence. He looks me up and down, until every inch of my skin is tingling. When his eyes meet mine again, his lips part, and I suddenly can't wait to hear what he'll say.

But he never gets the chance.

"Edward, where the hell have you been? I've been calling you for the past two hours."

We both glance towards Paul. I've only seen him three times the entire time I've worked here, and he always has the same bored expression and the same gold chain around his neck.

"I was checking over some paperwork," Edward replies.

Paul notices me when he finally glances up from his cell phone. Or, at least, he's vaguely aware of my presence. "That can wait. I need you on the boat right now."

Edward nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "All right. Let me lock up."

Paul waves his hand carelessly, already absorbed in his phone again as he drifts towards the exit.

Once he's gone, Edward finally hands over my shoes.

"Thanks," I murmur and start backing towards the door.

"Hey, think about it," Edward says.

"About what?"

"Being a dancer."

He smiles again and turns away, but I'm stopped in my tracks. I glance over at the stage and imagine the lights flashing and the music pulsing and the men waiting. It's a scene I see every night.

Except what if I was the one they were waiting for?

What if I could do what Rosalie does?

"Edward?" I call before I can talk myself out of it.

"Yeah?"

"I don't have to think about it." My stomach erupts in butterflies but my voice remains steady. "I'll do it."

* * *

 **All right, just to let everyone know. The little prologue at the beginning of the first chapter is set way in the future. This chapter is set a few months AFTER the body of the first chapter. Sorry to be so confusing! :p**

 **Also, someone asked why I always wrote big age gaps between B and E. The answer is honestly just that I like to. ;) I've always liked older guys, so that's just a bit of my personal preference leaking into my stories.**

 **Let me know if y'all have any questions! Thank you for reading! oxoxoxo**


	3. Chapter 3

_"Girl next door, let me come in. I know I go-go dance, but I do it for kicks."_ Who sang it? Y'all already know.

* * *

Chapter Three

I slip and land hard—again.

"That pretty much blew," Allie announces.

I groan and sit up, rubbing the sore spot where my head slammed against the stage. Allie and Rose are sitting at one of the tables closest to the stage, watching me land on my ass over and over again. Allie looks bored and Rose looks sympathetic.

"Your diamond cut is shaky, by the way," Allie tells me, taking off her Wayfarers to clean the lenses. "And you definitely need to work on your strength."

"But your rhythm and flexibility is great," Rose chimes in.

Allie nods a little reluctantly. "Yeah, but without strength she's not gonna be able to do a lot."

"It'll come with time, Allie. You have to build up strength," Rose replies.

I stand up stiffly, trying to work out the kinks in my aching muscles. My arms and legs are covered in bruises again, and I've even resorted to taking ice baths at night. It's the only thing that knocks the edge off the pain.

"All right, look." Allie stands up and yanks her purple-streaked hair into a bun. She steps onto the stage and grabs my wrists. "Your hands are too sweaty, first of all. It's why you keep slipping. Wipe them off."

I scrub my hands on my spandex shorts.

"Good. Now, I'm gonna teach you a few trade secrets."

* * *

The clouds roll in, ink-black and ominous.

A few minutes later, I'm standing in a summer downpour. I run back to the club and stand beneath the awning. It keeps me halfway dry, but I don't know if I'll be able to see my bus through the heavy rainfall.

The club's back door opens with a rusty groan, and I jump and glance over. Edward emerges and kicks the door shut. I watch as he digs in his pocket for the key. Once everything's locked up, he turns and spots me. I suddenly don't know where to look because I certainly can't look him in the eye. His gaze is too intimidating, too heavy and curious.

"Hey," he says. His voice is quiet and deep, barely audible over the loud spattering of rain. I've noticed he talks low and selectively, and people are always leaning in to hear whatever he has to say.

"Hey," I murmur, hugging my arms around my waist.

"What are you doing out here?" he asks, leaning against the wall.

"Waiting for my bus." I force my eyes over to him and see him nod. He's staring out at the rain instead of me, so I have sense enough to keep talking. "Thanks for the job, by the way."

His eyes find mine before I can look away, and he shrugs. "No problem." He stares at me, watching my growing discomfort with a small smile. He sticks his hands in his pockets and arches his brows. "Do you want a ride?"

It's the last thing I expected him to say. " _What_?"

His lips still have a devilish tilt. "The weather's shitty, and you're gonna be waiting out here for a while. I can take you anywhere you want to go."

I peep back over at him, red staining my cheeks. "Really?"

He offers a half smile that makes me go stupid. "Really."

"I don't know…" I shift my weight nervously, glancing down the street. In a minute, my bus will be here. I'll climb aboard and hopefully get my seat near the back. Everything will be sticky and too-touched, like anything public, and I'll go back to my little apartment where my life will turn dull and colorless once more.

Or I can go with Edward.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Bella." Edward teases me with a knockout smile.

"I know," I say, but I don't know. "I just… don't really know you, is all."

"Well, you can get to know me. If you want." He shrugs easily, but there's nothing carefree about his gaze.

I swelter beneath his stare and try not to look as breathless as I feel. "Okay," I hear myself whisper.

He smiles, and I know he hadn't doubted I'd say yes.

* * *

"This car is yours?" I ask, staring at its gloss and still-power.

"Yeah." Edward's hand dips into his pocket, and he pulls out a keyless remote. A button is pushed, and the lights on the car flash in response.

"Wow."

"You like Lamborghinis, huh?" he asks with a slight grin as he opens the passenger door for me.

"In theory. I've never seen one up close. Or ridden in one."

He laughs, and I take my seat, sliding onto cool leather.

A moment passes, and Edward is climbing into the driver's seat. I buckle my seatbelt and try not to feel so nervous.

"Where do you want to go?" He twists the key in the steering column, and the car hums to life, all low and rumbling power.

"Anywhere," I say breathlessly.

Edward smiles. "Do you like margaritas?"

I've only ever tried a few sips from my mom's glass, but I nod to look like I know what I'm doing.

"I know a place."

* * *

The _place_ is a beachside bar: sun-faded and old. Even in the rain, it's open. Edward and I run to stand beneath the leaky bamboo roof. Spanish music blares from a fuzzy-sounding speaker, barely audible over the storm. I'm surprised to find almost every one of the water-soaked barstools are occupied—all except three.

Edward leads me over to the empty seats with a light hand on my back. He's barely touching me, but I feel his touch even with a layer of cotton between us.

I'm a little dazed by the time I climb up into the stool. When Edward sits next to me and scoots our chairs closer, my mental state only worsens.

Our knees touch, and _is this a date_?

I wipe my clammy hands on my shorts, trying to calm my racing thoughts. This isn't a date. One glance at his beautiful profile confirms it.

There's no way he's on a date with _me_.

"Two margaritas please," he tells the bartender. Edward glances over, catching me staring. He gives me a half smile that kills. "So tell me something."

"Okay," I say a bit shakily, looking down at my hands. I draw looping designs on the age-beaten bar.

"How'd you start working at Eclipse?"

"Rose," I murmur. "She helped me get the job."

"Why'd you need it?"

"To pay for college."

"Yeah? What are you majoring in?"

I feel a little drop in my stomach, the way I always do when someone asks me this question. I always sound so reluctant when I answer because… I guess I am reluctant. Reluctant about everything. "Accounting." When there's no response, I peep over curiously. "What?"

"You don't look like an accountant," he says.

"What do I look like, then?"

"An artist maybe. You kinda look like an artist."

I scoff at this, and suddenly, the bartender slides a margarita in front of me. Edward gets his, too, and takes a swig without pause. Inexperience makes me a bit more reluctant, but I don't want him to know just how innocent I am. So, I tilt the drink back and take a daring sip.

It's not bad the way my mom's were. Hers were more tequila than anything else.

This is actually good, so I take another sip.

"I wanted to be a dancer—when I was little," I admit to Edward. "I took dance classes and everything."

"Why'd you stop?"

I shrug. "My parents divorced. Money was tight for my mom. So it just made sense to quit."

"Oh." Edward nods and spares me the awkward apologies.

"What about you?" I murmur, taking another sip of my drink for courage.

He doesn't react for a moment, almost like he hasn't heard me. But he's the kind of person who hears everything, sees everything. He's an observer—I can tell by the quiet way he moves and talks and looks.

Then he asks, "What about me?"

I blush and look away, feeling shy and way-too-young. "I don't know. What's your story?"

"My story?" He gives a little smile into his drink before he takes another gulp.

"Where are you from?" I try.

"Here."

"Really?"

He nods. "Yeah. Born and raised. What about you?"

I try not to dwell on how unwilling he is to talk about himself. Instead, I just say, "Arizona. I was born there. Then moved to Jacksonville with my mom when I was ten."

"She still there?"

"Oh, yeah. She's moved to about eight different houses, but she's never moved counties." I smile just a little, thinking about my flighty mom and the boxes she never seems to finish unpacking before it's time to move again. "She's kind of a hippie—always moving around. Never really settling. And she's always trying something new. Like this one time she decided to take martial arts classes. My mother, who hates violence and passes out at the sight of blood, decided to take fighting classes."

Edward exhales a laugh, but I snap my mouth shut embarrassedly because I don't know why I'm talking about _my_ _mom_.

"What?" he asks, bumping his knee against mine.

"I just… I usually don't talk this much to people I don't know that well." I chew on the inside of my cheek for a moment before pushing out the shameful words. "I'm kinda shy."

Edward shakes his head. "There's nothing wrong with that." He dips his head a little to meet my downcast eyes. "When you're quiet, you hear more."

There's nothing much else to say to that, so I just smile.

* * *

"Thanks," I whisper, not really wanting to get out of the car.

In the movies, this is when they kiss.

But this isn't like the movies, and Edward stays firmly on his side of the car.

"You're welcome." He runs a hand through his damp hair, mussing the already chaotic strands. His white shirt is still damp from the rain, and I can see the light gold of his skin beneath.

"Thanks for the drink, too," I add softly, tangling my restless fingers together in my lap.

"Yeah, anytime." He gives me a sleepy smile, but he seems suddenly distant. His intensity has faded, has moved on to something else.

I want to ask him why. Why did he even bother taking me all the way out of the city for margaritas? Why did he bother asking me all those questions? But I'm not that confrontational. And I probably just misread his intentions.

"Okay," I say dully, and open the door. The rain has slacked off to a light mist, and the air is hot and humid again. I feel sick as soon as I step out into the sticky night.

I shut the door to Edward's fancy car and start to walk away, to the front of my building. But I hear his window roll down, and I pause.

"Hey," he calls.

I peep over my shoulder and watch as he jerks his chin at me.

"Have a good night, Bella," he says, and then drives away before I can respond.


	4. Chapter 4

_"I feel you, pretty baby, feel me."_ -Lana

* * *

Chapter Four

I thought I'd be nervous.

But with the glittery makeup and the fake lashes, I've never felt more alive. I take the stage in my high heels and barely-there clothes. I move with grace and ease I've never felt before. I feel the lingering gazes and the longing, and I glow beneath the neon lights and ethereal smoke.

* * *

Rose is waiting for me in the dimly lit hallway behind the stage. The darkness is disorienting, like waking up from a dream.

"Aro's here," Rose tells me. "He wants to meet you."

"Me?" I ask, dazed.

She's already leaning in, fixing my tangled hair and smudged makeup. "Yeah. He likes meeting the new dancers."

I know better than to protest, so I just nod.

* * *

Aro's in the VIP room, bathed in cool blue light and a fog of cigar smoke. Edward and Paul are with him, talking in low voices about things better left unheard. Another man sits next to Paul, sprawled on a white couch with Allie perched in his lap. He's whispering in her ear, and she's rolling her eyes, trying not to smile.

"Aro, this is Isabella," Rose announces, giving him her prettiest smile.

His features are dark, but his smile is warm. He stands and takes my hand delicately between his palms. "You're quite the dancer, Isabella. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He weaves his words with enough fervor and conviction that I blush. "Thank you," I whisper.

"Oh, and she's shy. How lovely," he says with a gentle laugh. "Edward, you were the one who discovered this beauty, weren't you?"

When I peep over to him, Edward's gaze burns hot. He's leaning foward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped carelessly between them. He chews a piece of gum slowly before smirking and looking at Aro. "No. Rose found her."

Before Rose has a chance to bask in the glow of Aro's approval, Paul speaks up sullenly. His voice is a mutter. "Of course, I was the one who hired her."

Aro simply laughs and finally releases my hand. He takes his seat and smoothes out his silken tie. "Well, you all have very good taste. We do have more business to discuss, though, so I'm afraid we can't be distracted by these beauties any longer."

Rose grabs my arm and starts to pull me away, but before we can get too far, Aro stops us.

"Oh and, Isabella? Why don't you join us tomorrow? I'm having a little party at my house in the evening."

"I'd love to," I say, because he's not the kind of man you say no to.

Aro simply smiles. "Great."

* * *

"Is that good?"

"It's very good." Rose gives me a little smile as she takes off her eyelashes.

I scrub at my face with a makeup remover wipe. "Really?"

"Really." Rose nods, but something in her voice is off. "It took me three months of dancing before Aro invited me to a party. It took Allie almost a year."

"Why?"

"Allie's kind of bold—in her dancing style and her personality. Aro likes a more delicate disposition. Guess it makes him feel more powerful." Rose shrugs. "Anyway, let's talk about what you'll wear tomorrow." She gives a knowing smile at my look of discomfort. "I think you should borrow something of mine."

* * *

"It's really short," I tell Rose, tugging at the hem of the little black dress she's somehow managed to stuff me into.

"Bella, you dance on a pole and strip to your bra and panties. And you think this is too short?" Rose arches a brow as she turns the car down another winding street.

I stare out the window, watching the houses grow larger and fancier the farther we go. "It's different," I say, because it is.

"Okay, sure." Rose laughs. "You look hot, though. Embrace it."

I don't really know how to do that. But I nod anyway.

* * *

Aro's house is a work of art—a showpiece. It's not an actual home. But it does what it's designed to: it wows.

I wander around the place in a daze, amazed at how white everything is, how clean and sharp and modern. The house is mostly glass, and I can see the ocean without ever stepping foot outside the living room. I can see the infinity pool, too.

I'm thoroughly dazzled. I've only seen wealth like this on TV, and I've tried to imagine what it'd be like. But it's easier to imagine being here in person.

"Isabella!"

I glance over and give a tentative smile to Aro. He takes my hand just as he did the last time we met. "You look wonderful," he says.

"Thank you," I reply shyly.

"Of course. I'm glad you could come. Enjoy," he tells me, dropping an easy wink. He hands me a flute of champagne, and then he's gone, talking to the men who wear suits as expensive as his.

* * *

I drift outside to watch the sunset in the fading heat. I lean against the balcony's railing because my head's just a little fuzzy from all the champagne.

The orange-gold of the sky is reflected against the ocean, and I try to decipher where the horizon lies. The low murmur of voices bubbles around me, mixing with the lapping of the water against the shore. I feel a thousand miles away from anything I've ever known.

It feels good.

"Enjoying yourself?"

I peep over my shoulder and find Edward wearing a white button-down and holding two glasses of champagne. He offers me one and I take it, even though I've had enough.

"Yeah," I answer. "Are you?"

He shrugs and leans onto the railing with me. Our arms brush, and my heart leaps. "These parties are always the same," he murmurs, staring out at the ocean. "The same people talking about the same things. It's not all that exciting anymore."

"What do you find exciting, then?" I ask, the alcohol making me bold, and he likes it. I can tell by his smirk.

"All kinds of things," he replies, his gaze hotter than the dying sunlight. "And what about you, Miss Swan? What do you find exciting?"

 _You_ , I think, but I'm not tipsy enough to say it out loud. I don't need to, though—he smiles like he already knows the answer.

"I don't know," I say. "I think all of this is exciting." I motion around us, to the infinity pool and the rich, powerful men.

"That's only because you don't know what real excitement is," he teases.

"What do you define as real excitement, then?" I ask, arching my brows.

He gives a crooked smile that's probably broken many hearts before mine. "You seem like a good girl, Bella. I wouldn't want to corrupt you with my ideals."

"Maybe I'm tired of being a good girl," I whisper, and I feel the truth of my statement deep down in my bones. "Maybe I want to be corrupted," I add, and my heart beats deliriously at the thought.

Edward leans in a little, and the party, the ocean waves, my heart—it all stops. I feel the cool kiss of his peppermint breath on my lips, feel the hot touch of his gaze on my skin.

"Maybe you shouldn't try to grow up so fast," he whispers, and then, just like that, he's gone.

* * *

I see the other girls taking men by the hand, leading them to the private rooms. Allie mentioned it to me once.

"It's the best money you can get without actually doing them," she'd said. "And I mean—you can do that, too. If you're willing."

But I'm not, so I'll stick to lap dancing.

I ask Rose about it one night, but she simply shrugs. "It's just kind of something you learn and get comfortable with as you go."

I try practicing on Allie, but all she does is slap my ass and laugh when I get embarrassed.

"You have to get used to that," she warns.

I just roll my eyes and eventually give up with her.

Rose is always too busy either dancing or disappearing off with Aro or a friend of his.

So I'm left to figure it out on my own.

* * *

I won't have the safety and distance of the stage.

I'll be up close and personal. I'll be dancing on strangers the way I've never dared to dance with someone I know.

Sighing, I drop down into the chair I've been practicing with. The club is quiet and dark, and I know I have to get up now. I have a bus to catch and a day's worth of classes to take.

But my tired body only slumps further down.

I allow myself the comfort of closing my eyes, unable to remember the last time I really slept.

* * *

I gasp awake, my body recoiling from the light touch against my arm.

Edward is crouched in front of me, a smirk touching his lips. "Have a nice nap?"

"Oh, God." I rub at my face, smearing my makeup. "What time is it?"

"A little after six."

"In the morning?"

Edward's smirk turns into a full-blown grin. "Yeah."

Relief rushes through me, and I'm drowsy all over again, my little spike of awareness fading fast.

"You should go home, Bella. Get some rest."

"I can't." I'm suddenly aware of how gravely my voice sounds, and try to clear my throat discreetly. "I've got class in an hour."

Edward works a piece of chewing gum between his teeth slowly. I'm too sleep-hazed to even pretend I'm not fascinated by the way the muscles in his jaw flex.

"I can cut your hours back if you need me to. Until summer break," he offers.

"No." I shake my head and wipe beneath my eyes, trying to blend away the smudged mascara. "No, I can't do that. I have to have the money."

Edward shakes his head with a rueful little smile. "All right." He stands and walks behind the bar. I watch as he fixes himself a drink—scotch, the really expensive kind.

"I can feel the judgment," he says without looking up as he screws the cap back onto the scotch. "But since I haven't been to bed yet, it technically isn't morning to me."

I smile and shake my head a little, standing up. "No. No judgment. I was raised by a woman who had Bloody Mary's for breakfast everyday."

"Smart woman," Edward says.

I nod and play with the hem of my shirt, knowing what I want to say next but lacking the courage to ask it aloud.

"What is it?"

I peep up, getting stuck in Edward's playful gaze. He's a tease, and maybe I should be, too. Maybe I can be.

"Can I ask you something?" I drop my lashes just a little and try not to feel stupid.

Edward's expression wavers for a moment, but he nods and takes a drink. "Of course."

I walk towards the bar slowly, the way I've seen Rose saunter up to a man. I feel funny trying it without the lights and the music. "What do men like? When they're getting lap dances?"

"Usually, just the fact that they're getting a lap dance. We're pretty easy to please," he says lightly.

"There isn't anything specific?"

Edward goes quiet, his smirk completely absent now. He takes another sip of his scotch, his eyes never leaving mine, and shrugs. "I'm sure everyone's different."

I nod and press my palms against the bar, leaning towards him just a little. "I thought maybe you could teach me a thing or two. If you feel up to it."

His eyes burn and his fingers tap a sharp, frantic beat against the bar. He stares, and for once, I don't give into shyness and look down.

He's the one who looks away this time.

"Okay. If that's what you want." He pushes off from the bar and walks over to the sound system. A moment later, a slow beat and heavy bass fills the air and seeps into my skin.

Edward nods at me, making me come to him. I do so slowly, like I don't really want to. He smiles because he sees through it.

"It's all about teasing." His voice is quiet as he takes a step forward, his hand sliding into my hair, tugging at my elastic. "About being sensual." My hair falls from its ponytail, spilling around my shoulders. "It's a dance, just like what you do on stage."

I nod silently.

"Push me down into the chair," he says, and when my eyes widen, he grabs my wrists. His touch is gentle, but my heart is wild, an offbeat rhythm of jumps and jolts.

Edward presses my hands against his chest lightly. "Push me," he says again, so I do. He eases down into the chair, but he pulls me with him. He does it slow enough that I don't gasp and tumble awkwardly into his lap. Instead, I'm straddling him and my lungs don't work.

He tells me how I should let my hair fall around us, how I should touch his neck and play with his hair, how I should lean in to kiss him but pull away quickly with a smile.

I try to listen and do what he says, but when his hands fall against my hips and urge me to sway to the music, his words turn to white noise.

Until he says, "Always look like you're enjoying yourself. Look like you want me."

That's when I want to reply and say, _I do_.

But I simply lean in, my eyes dropping to his lips. Our noses brush, and I'm so close I can almost imagine how his scruff will feel against the softness of my skin. I shiver a little, enough that he can feel, and I swear I hear his breath catch, too.

Then I pull away, the way I'm supposed to.

He exhales a laugh, and I give him a sweet little smile, but the moment feels far from playful.

I try shifting around until I'm sitting in his lap, my back against his chest. I think it might be easier when I don't see his face, when I don't see the darkness in his gaze and the way he thoughtlessly licks his lips.

It's not, though.

His hands slide around to my stomach, playing with the hem of my shirt. His breath scorches the side of my neck, and I stretch my arm back, looping it around his neck, pulling him closer.

I close my eyes and swing and sway my hips. I arch my back and scratch my nails lightly against his neck. He pulls me back a little further onto his lap, instinctually, and I let him.

I wonder if I should scoot back just a bit more. I wonder if I should grind against him the way I've seen them do in music videos. I wonder if it would feel good, but somehow, I know it would.

I've almost completely stopped moving now, and Edward's breathing is getting faster, harder against my neck. His lips are getting closer, too, just centimeters away from my pounding pulse.

My hands find his and I push them up without thinking. His fingers slip beneath the hem of my shirt, and I feel his rough touch against my firework-filled stomach.

I push his hands higher and higher, and his lips inch closer and closer. I can feel his lashes against my skin, can feel his fingers almost tracing the underwire of my bra.

Then the song stops, and so does everything else.

Edward's hands drop and his lips disappear, and if it weren't for the haze in my mind, everything would be normal.

I stand up shakily, my face hot. I can't quite meet his eyes when I ask if that was okay.

"Yeah, it was good," he says quietly.

My eyes are downcast, and that's how I see his watch.

It's 6:45. I'm suddenly panicked.

"Oh, no. Oh, shit," I mumble, grabbing his wrist and double-checking.

Definitely late.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"I missed my bus." My words come out as a disappointed moan. I fumble to find my bag and gather my things.

I'll have to take a cab.

It'll be expensive, and I'll still probably be late to class. And if I don't get there on time, I'll flunk…

"I can take you," Edward says.

"Really?" I ask, wincing.

He simply smiles. "Really."

* * *

He drives so fast that we arrive on campus with time to spare.

I give him a tentative smile and thank you.

"It's not a big deal," he shrugs. He's leaning against the steering wheel, pretending to be a little sleepy, but it's just like before. He's distant, and he wants me to go. I can just tell.

This time, I don't, though.

Not without asking what I wanted to the last time.

"Do you take out all the girls at the club for drinks?"

He blinks, obviously surprised by my boldness. "No," he says slowly. "Just you."

"Why?" I ask.

He doesn't answer, just stares at me with a completely unfathomable expression.

"Do you flirt with all the other girls, too?" I ask, not really mad but not really timid, either.

He smiles like it's no big deal, and maybe it isn't to him. He just shakes his head and says, "You're gonna be late."

"Right," I mumble and get out. I make sure to slam his door a little harder than necessary, earning a few winces from the college boys gawking at his car.

"Damn, girl. Easy on the machinery," one of them says mournfully.

I roll my eyes, completely disgusted, and don't look back as I run to class.

* * *

 **Hi, again! Finally! Sorry for the super long delay! It's not even summer here anymore. But it is summer for some folks, so we'll continue! I hope y'all enjoy!**

 **I'm going to start over on reviews again. My goal for this chapter is to answer every review, so if y'all have any questions or just want to chat, let me know! :)**

 **Also, friend me on Facebook (Lila Allihavetodoisdream) or follow me on Twitter ( liladreamer57) if you wanna chat there, instead.**

 **Lena, thank you so much for your sweet compliment! I AM a huge LDR fan, for sure! I love Honeymoon. The more I listen, the more I'm obsessed. Especially 24 for this story. :) I'm flattered you thought of my stories! Thank you!**

 **Sexysiren1981, thank you so much! Age gap fics are just the best, right? Love that forbidden aspect! :p You're awesome, too, girl!**

 **oxoxox,**

 **Lila**


	5. Chapter 5

_"All the lights in Miami begin to gleam, ruby, blue and green, neon, too."_

* * *

Chapter Five

I spent my first day of college in awe, overwhelmed by all the color and brilliance. My classmates all seemed so beautiful and so… _Miami_. Their clothes, their smiles, their tans, their hair—it was all so new.

But it didn't take long for me to realize I was too dull to ever fit in with such vibrancy.

Not this kind of vibrancy.

I wasn't meant for sunshine and pastel colors, and now, sitting by the fountain with Rose, eating our lunch, I wonder why I ever wanted _this_.

The goofy boys on their skateboards seem juvenile. The girls talking shit in tight clusters seem pathetic.

I glance over at Rose. She's reading _Their Eyes Were Watching God_ and frowning against the bright-white sun.

"How do you do this?" I ask, nibbling on a chip.

Rose looks up in surprise. "Do what?"

"This." I motion around us. "How do you juggle school and Eclipse?"

"Well, first, I'm not taking a shit-ton of classes like you." She pokes my side. "And secondly… I don't know. I mean, we're making more now than we'll ever make with an English degree and an accounting degree, you know?"

I pick at the crust on my sandwich and nod.

"It just makes _this_ ," she says, nodding at the sun-bathed quad, "seem less important."

* * *

My lungs are full of neon smoke.

The air is hot and his hands are everywhere.

 _The Hills_ blares and the club trembles. Twenty-something's high on white powder and pills dance in the flashing light.

It used to be so disorienting.

Now it feels like home.

The guy Aro told me to dance with—Jared, I think—tries slipping his hand up my dress again. I turn to face him and shake my head with a little smile.

"Aro said you'd show me a good time," he yells over the chaos.

"Not that good of a time." I wink at him and try not to be outwardly disgusted.

He's younger than the men we deal with upstairs. Flashier and louder. Making up for his lack of experience with a player's bravado. It makes me uneasy.

But then I see Edward on the stairs with Paul. They're watching the frantic crowd with careful eyes, murmuring things better left unheard for someone like me.

I grab Jared's hand and try to grab Edward's eyes. I stare until he feels my gaze and then I pretend I was never looking at all.

I press back against Jared, swaying my hips to the dark beat and heavy bass. His hands slip upwards, encouraged. He starts groping with the careless, greedy touch I'm used to, but instead of pushing him away, I let my eyes fall back to Edward.

He looks bored, but his gaze is on fire.

One look from him has me burning hotter than any of the desperate touches from the man behind me.

I twist and writhe to the music, lifting my arms and hair. Jared's lips skim over my sweaty skin, but I barely feel them. I give Edward a little smile and close my eyes, basking in the glow of jealousy.

Two months of indifference from him has made me petty.

I can't stand his calm and cool.

I want frenzy and fever.

When my eyes open again, though, he's gone. I frown, pushing Jared's hands away in irritation.

"What?" he demands.

"I'm too hot," I say, tearing my eyes away from the now empty landing where Paul and Edward had been.

"Let's go get a drink then." Jared doesn't ask. He just grabs my arm and starts hauling me through the crowd. As soon as we're off the dance floor, I feel another hand grab my other arm—hard.

"I need to speak with Isabella for a moment, Jared," Edward says, and I think only I can tell the sharpness in his voice. "Business matters."

"Okay, I guess." Jared reluctantly lets go of me, suspicion plain on his face as he stares at the possessive hold Edward has on me.

Edward's too rushed to smooth it over. He just starts pulling me towards the back of the club, so fast I can barely keep up. But unlike with Jared, I want to.

I don't ask him where he's taking me. I don't say anything at all and neither does he.

We walk until we're hidden from the dance floor in a dark hallway with dim blue lights and a sticky floor.

He pushes me up against the wall. "What are you doing?" he demands quietly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply airily.

A crease forms between his brows as he stares at my mouth.

I watch as his chest hitches up and down, hard and fast, and then he's grabbing my face.

Kissing me.

He's kissing me, but not like the sloppy, too wet, awkward kisses I've had before. There's no room for awkwardness, only heat.

I gasp against him, shocked by his force. I try to keep up, but I'm not sure I want to now. I want to be swept up by this—swept up and away and I want to drown in him.

My fingers clutch at his shirt, and his hands move, sliding over my neck and down to my chest. His fingers tug at the daring neckline of my dress, and I wonder if he's going to pull it off right here in public—and I wonder if I'll let him—but he doesn't. He's just teasing me, the same way I've teased him.

I lean towards him, almost desperately, needing more, and he gives it to me.

His hand comes up and closes around my throat, pushing me back, showing me he's in control—and that's exactly what I want. He squeezes a little, just enough to make my stomach dip at the thrill.

Then he pulls back sharply, his face wild and his eyes big.

"It has to be a secret," he whispers. "It's against Aro's rules."

"Okay," I say.

"And it can't mean anything," he adds, softer.

I'm not sure what he expects. Maybe for me to shake my head and say no. Maybe for me to get out of this mess before it can begin. But I don't want to.

I simply say, "I know."

* * *

"I'm just so glad you came this weekend. I feel like I haven't seen you in years." Mom hands me a virgin strawberry daiquiri before taking a sip of her very non-virgin margarita.

"I know," I reply, squinting against the lemon-yellow sun.

"So. Tell me everything." Mom sits in the lawn chair across from mine, reaching for the tanning oil. "But before you do, I just have to say—again—how proud we are of you for getting that internship. I know you worked your butt off for it."

My smile comes a little too naturally. "Thanks, Mom."

"No, sweetheart—really. I really want you to understand how happy it makes me, and what a relief, too. I was so afraid you were going to have to take a semester off or something."

"Yeah," I say.

"Okay, okay. So _now_ tell me everything. What have you been up to?"

"Nothing, really."

Mom lifts her aviators to get a better look at me. "Bella, honey. Are you working too hard? I feel like sometimes… I feel like sometimes you forget to be young. I mean, college is more than just pulling all-night study sessions and drinking too much coffee. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Good. Because I just worry about you."

I smile again and reach over to squeeze her hand. "Don't worry. Really."

* * *

Aro's yacht is much like his house—showy and the best money can buy.

Liquor and laughter flows easily here, safe amidst the open blue waters with the towering skyline of Miami behind us. Here, the men talk loudly, bathed in warm sunlight instead of shrouded in darkness and cigar smoke.

The party is small but wild nonetheless.

Us girls are told to have fun, and to entertain while doing so.

We dive and splash in the pool on deck, dressed in skimpy designer bathing suits and coated in waterproof makeup. The men get to watch us—thus, the entertainment.

It's the first time I've been invited to one of these private parties, and it feels like something. Only Rose, Allie, and Maria are ever asked to come—and now me. I feel like part of an exclusive circle in an already exclusive group.

"How's it feel?" Allie asks me, floating lazily while Maria and Rose have a water fight at the other end of the pool.

I squint against the white sunlight and make out the shape of the men on deck. They lounge around, drinking and talking of "old times."

"How's what feel?" I respond.

"Being part of the cool kids' club?" Allie laughs and sprinkles water at me.

I smile and shrug because nonchalance is part of this club. I dip underwater, letting it cool my sun-flushed cheeks. When I pop back up, I see Paul and Edward appear from below deck.

He's wearing swim trunks and an open button-down, and he's the perfect balance of cool and rumpled. He carries a bottle of some ridiculously expensive champagne and laughs at something Paul says.

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, and that's all he has to do to get my heart pounding.

I look away from him, pretending to be unfazed and utterly bored.

* * *

Edward nods towards the bathroom. It's almost imperceptible, but I somehow know.

I break away from the group of chatty men and go inside and wait.

The bathroom is almost as large as my bedroom and undoubtedly grander. It's all hardwood and luxury. Double sinks, a shower, a Jacuzzi—everything you'd find in a mansion's bathroom, you'd find here.

I run my fingers along the counter, marveling at the opulence, and hear the door open behind me.

I don't turn around.

It's more exciting not to.

I hear the party still raging outside. But here, it's quiet.

Except for my frantic heartbeat.

Fingers run up my arms, and I shiver. Lips brush against my neck, and I shake. The first night in the club was all fast and urgent and rough, and this is slow and careful and soft.

Until it's not.

His fingers fist in my hair and jerk my head back. I gasp.

"You're a little tease, aren't you?" he whispers against my neck. His breath still manages to feel hot on my burning skin.

"No."

"Liar." I feel his lips turn up in the smallest of smiles, and I smile back, exhaling a half-nervous, half-excited breath.

He spins me around and lifts me up onto the counter. It happens fast. It makes me dizzy. I clutch at his shirtsleeves and then I'm trying to push them away. He helps me, shrugging out of the shirt.

I move my hands over him as he does the same over me.

My touch is tentative and a little shy, ghosting along his stomach, moving curiously over the small tattoos he has scattered here and there, daring to trace the line of hair below his navel.

His touch is completely the opposite. It's dominant and a little rough. Possessive and demanding. And I like it that way.

His touch is the key to unlocking a dark and shadowy little desire I've had blooming in the back of my mind for ages.

He kisses me and his hands fall to my knees, pulling them apart. He steps between and our hips fit together. My head falls back, and his lips move down my throat.

I'm just a little out of my depth and it excites me more. I'm breathless and nervous and flushed.

He pulls me closer, his skin warm against mine.

But then there's a knock on the door.

I jump, ready to gasp, but Edward's hand is over my mouth before I can.

"Edward? You in there?" It's Paul—I can tell by the irritated tone of voice.

"Yeah," he replies, his voice somehow even. His eyes find mine. There's a thrill in this secret and we both feel it.

"Get out here, man. Aro needs you."

"Okay," Edward murmurs. He kisses me once more, briefly. "Stay here for a minute."

I simply nod.

And then he's gone.

I wait until I've combed through my hair and the flush of our secret has faded from my cheeks.

Then I go back out into the party like nothing's happened at all.


	6. Chapter 6

" _We could slow dance to rock music; k_ _iss while we do it._ " -Lana

* * *

Chapter Six

He's all I can think about.

I try not to seem obvious.

I try not to let it distract me.

But I am and it does.

He says he'll wait for me outside the Sciences building, and sure enough, he's there, waiting in his car.

I don't really know what to expect and that's the thrill of it.

I barely keep myself from running to him, but I can't look as excited as I feel. I refuse to.

Just as I'm nearing the road, just as my heart starts to switch rhythms, I hear my name and hesitate. I hesitate because I know the voice. I hesitate because I've been dodging her for too long. But part of me wants to keep going, to slide into his car and away from this bleached and boring life I lead during the day.

Already, the sky is turning gold and crimson, and the atmosphere is shifting. The city starts to gleam, neon flickers on and people ready themselves for a party.

I debate too long and Angela catches up with me, grabbing onto my arm as if she fears I'll run away.

Maybe I want to.

"Bella," she huffs, halfway out of breath.

"Hey, Ang, I—"

"What the hell?" she demands, still holding onto me with a clammy-cold hand. "Where have you been?"

"What do you mean? I've just been busy at the diner and all—"

"Cut the bull." Angela finally lets go of my arm, but does so with a little shove. "I _went_ to the diner, Bella—since you never answer your phone—and Demetri told me you hadn't worked there in months."

For the first time since this whole thing began, I'm out of quickly spun lies. All there is to do is stare at her.

She licks her lips and keeps going. "Then I run into Jessica Stanley—we have History of the World together. She starts bragging to me about how she got the internship you were after—much to my surprise, seeing as you told me _you_ got it."

"Angela," I begin hesitantly. My eyes flicker over to Edward's car. His window's down and I can see him staring at us, watching this scene unfold.

"What have you been doing?" Angela demands, pulling me back.

"Nothing. I just—"

"Stop lying!" she cries. "We've been friends since high school, Bella! You're my _best_ friend! I tell you _everything_! I told you about that time in middle school when I puked in gym, and about that time I fell down the steps in front of my crush. And I even told you about the first time Ben and I had sex and how awkward it was and how I kept laughing!" She's breathing hard and turning pink. "I tell you everything! My most private moments! And I don't even know where you work anymore!"

"Angela, you… I know. But you just—you wouldn't… understand," I fumble.

"I wouldn't _understand_?" she almost screams.

We're gathering looks from passing students now. People never can contain their curiosity at other's misery.

"No," I whisper nervously. I feel tears pooling up in my eyes—it's a knee-jerk reaction to high emotion for me. Whether I'm angry or scared or happy—I cry. "It's just that… I don't expect you to get it."

"I've stood by you through every weird thing you've ever done or said, Bella. The constant daydreaming, the weird periods of silence, the unwillingness to go out and have fun like normal teenagers—I've been your friend through it all. Because at least you were honest with me about it—but this is different. It's like I don't even know you."

My fingers tremble, and all I think is _I'm tired I'm tired I'm tired_. Tired of being a pushover. Tired of answering to people. Tired of this meaningless drama.

I speak before I think.

I say, in the most condescending voice, "Are you're breaking up with me?"

I see the hurt in her eyes, and I see the opportunity to maybe—maybe—fix it. Maybe salvage this strained friendship. Maybe walk back into my old life. Maybe go back to the apartment with her, away from Edward, away from the night and the club and the subtle danger beneath.

But I don't want to.

So I walk away from _her_ and her heartbreak, and mine, too.

I get in Edward's car.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

I just nod and stare firmly at my lap. "Yeah."

* * *

As soon as the sun sets, as soon as we're away from the college, it's like that world doesn't even exist. And so neither does Angela and neither does my pain.

Edward doesn't ask questions about it, and I'm glad.

We just cruise in silence, the windows down and the air balmy. My hair gets tangled but I don't care. I feel free and dark and special.

"Where are we going?" I ask, watching downtown Miami flash by in a blur of neon and pastels.

Edward doesn't answer right away, so I glance over just in time to catch him smile.

* * *

"You aren't afraid of water are you?"

I shake my head, eyeing the boat curiously. It's one of those speedboats, all sleek and luxurious. It bobs gently in the midnight waters, and I wonder if it can move as fast as I've heard.

Edward helps me in, and I feel unsteady. I don't know if it's the sea or his touch that makes my knees shake.

I sit down in the passenger seat as Edward gets behind the wheel. He reaches over, brushing my wind-tangled hair off my cheek. I feel suddenly shy and all too warm, so I keep my eyes on my lap, on my nervously twirling fingers.

Edward's hand moves—over my neck and down the line of my low plunging collar. His touch excites me the way no other boy's has. It's almost too much, but that's half the pleasure, isn't it?

Before I can push his hand a little lower, he removes it altogether and grabs my seatbelt, tugging it across my lap and securing me in.

"I like to go fast," I whisper, but he hears me because soon we're full speed, tearing across the water.

My head tips back and I see nothing but sky and stars.

* * *

We dock at another beachside bar. This one is lively, with Latin music blaring and people dancing on a worn floor.

Edward leads us through the cluster of laughing, swinging people towards a table, but before we can get there, an older man in a faded Hawaiian shirt appears, all hands and laugh lines.

"Edward, my boy!" he cries.

Edward smiles, not with his usual cool restraint, but with genuine warmth. "Hey, Esteban."

"Where have you been?" He grabs Edward's face, shaking him playfully. "I am in need of your services, my friend."

"I'll be more than glad to hear you out—another time." Edward's eyes don't move towards me, but I feel his heightened sense of my awareness.

Esteban feels it, too, and his eyes fall to me. "Ah. And who is this young beauty, Edward? Surely not a lover."

A little smile crosses my lips as he scoops up my hand carefully and plants a kiss with leathery lips.

"This is Isabella," Edward murmurs, his hand falling to the small of my back. It isn't necessarily protective but it isn't casual, either. It's just enough to confuse and disorient my thoughts.

"You are stunning, my dear." Esteban grasps my hand tightly, leaning towards me. His breath smells of cigars and tequila, and his eyes are coffee-brown and lovely.

"Thank you. How charming," I reply evenly.

He winks. "No one's ever accused me of being otherwise, have they, Edward?"

"Never." Edward smiles and starts pulling me away from the likeable old man. "I'll call you tomorrow."

Esteban's mischievous act drops and he nods. " _Gracias_."

Edward nods back and leads me towards an uneven table. We take our seats and I lean back, watching the way people's hips sway and swivel to a frantic beat. The air is hot in here, stuffy and humid.

It's an undeniably Miami night: hot, balmy, and perfect.

"I like that dress."

Edward's low voice makes my cheeks heat. I look over at him from beneath my lashes, hoping to look daring rather than flushed.

"Thank you. I felt stupid wearing it to my classes, but I wouldn't have had time to go change."

He smiles a bit and nods, his eyes wandering. I watch him watch the dancers, and I try to guess what he's thinking, what makes his brow crinkle, what makes his eyes dark and faraway.

He's a perfect puzzle.

When he looks back at me, he shakes his head a little.

"What?" I ask.

"Why aren't you at a party right now? With some college boy playing beer pong?" His tone is half teasing, half annoyed.

I frown, feeling a bit of irritation myself. "Because I don't want to be with some college boy. I wanna be here. With you."

Edward sighs, propping his cheek on his hand. We stare at each other a moment, a silent standoff that neither will win. When he realizes that, he just exhales a quiet laugh and looks away. "You're a sweet girl, Bella."

My irritation grows and my tone turns sour. "I always have been. Sweet, little Bella. Honor student Bella. Innocent, shy, never-took-a-sip-of-beer—the whole nine yards. I'm tired of it. It's so _boring_."

"Boring isn't as bad as you think."

"Don't patronize me."

"I'm not. I'm just being honest."

"Well, you don't really seem like the honest type," I reply flatly.

Edward just grins, tossing an arm over the back of his chair. "I can be, when the mood strikes."

I take a little breath and then exhale, hoping to expel my bitterness. I lean up on the table, dropping my voice so he'll have to lean in to hear me. "Well, since you're having one of those honest moods, why don't you tell me something?"

His eyes gleam. "What's that?"

"Can you dance?"

He smiles again and answers my question by standing. His hand grabs mine and he gently pulls me towards the dance floor.

* * *

We take a walk on the beach to cool off.

I remove my sandals and let the still sun-warmed sand between my toes. Edward rolls up the ankles of his jeans a little and walks in the water. With his hands in his pockets and the moonlight on his features, I take more glances at him than I should. If he notices, he doesn't let on. He just lets me stare.

* * *

The progression back to his apartment isn't forced or awkward. One moment we're on the beach talking, the next we're in an elevator, silently rising through a massive condominium.

I twist my fingers, restless, because I'm a little afraid.

Afraid of what he'll want.

And afraid of what I'll give him.

The elevator doors open and he leads me down the hall with a light hand on my back. I try to breathe.

When the doors to his apartment open, though, half-formed fears take a backseat to awe. The apartment is all glass and white and the view is to die for. The city sparkles all around us, like we're floating midair above Miami.

I drift past the stark white, hard-looking furniture, moving towards the wall of windows to get a better look.

My breath fogs up the glass.

"You want something to drink?" Edward asks, his voice echoing in the almost empty space.

"No thanks," I say, suddenly very quiet and very shy. I feel our solitude up here acutely. It makes my palms sweat.

I jump a little when I feel Edward's hands gently brushing up my hair, and I shiver when I feel his lips graze the side of my neck.

There's a tug at the back of my dress and then I hear the zipper going down slowly. Every movement is drawn out, even the soft brush of his eyelashes against my skin as he blinks and waits. Waits for a yes or no.

I simply stay silent.

* * *

 ***Waves sheepishly***

 **Hi, guys. Sorry I suck and haven't updated in like a year. I really have no good excuses. I just lost my inspiration. For literally everything. It sucked, and I missed writing sooooo much.**

 **So anyway, this story is completely finished now. The updates will be more frequent. I'm just editing a bunch of them to make them flow better.**

 **If you've read Dark Paradise, too, I'm working on that one. Don't lose hope because I haven't. I just... I can't write it right now. It won't cooperate for me. I lost the love for it. I'm trying to find it again.**

 **Anyway, I missed you guys, too. I hope y'all like the rest of this story. :)**

 **oxoxox,**

 **Lila**


	7. Chapter 7

" _In the dark you can do whatever you want to_." -Lana, duh

* * *

Chapter Seven

I wake to white light instead of the dingy yellow I'm accustomed to. I'm only disoriented for a half second before I remember exactly where I am, whose bed I'm in.

I've never slept naked before. The sheets are cool and smooth against my bare skin and it feels scandalous. It feels divine.

I reach my arm along the massive bed but find no one, just empty, cold space. It doesn't surprise me at all. I didn't expect him to lie around with me and greet me with a loving smile like they do in the movies.

I'd always thought that was corny, anyway.

I stretch experimentally and wince at the soreness. But then I smile, too, and blush and hide my face in the pillow.

Memories of the night before dance behind my closed lids.

His hands, his mouth, his taste. His dirty whispered words against my heated skin.

It felt like he was burning me from the inside out, and I get flushed just thinking about it.

" _Touch yourself."_

 _He's kneeling on the end of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt, watching me squirm._

" _What?" I ask, breathless._

 _He reaches down, wraps his hands around my knees and gently pulls them apart, giving me the smallest of smiles. "Touch yourself. Show me how you like it."_

 _I don't know where the embarrassed flush ends and the aroused one begins. I'm just hot all over and can't think straight._

" _I can't," I say, so shy it's painful._

 _He leans down, presses a gentle kiss to my kneecap and whispers into my skin. "Yes, you can."_

I sit up in the bed, running my fingers through impossibly tangled hair. The bed's duvet was tossed off and now lies in a pile on the floor, but I can't remember if it was before or after we went to sleep.

 _My hand is between my thighs, and I keep my eyes shut. But I'm too aware that he's there, watching. It gives me a taste of pleasure but not satisfaction._

 _My eyes open._

 _He has his shirt off now, and his body is beautiful; lean, slightly defined. He has a few tattoos, but I can't focus enough to make them out. I'm pleasure-hazed and disoriented._

 _His eyes meet mine. They seem black._

 _I squirm, more turned on by a look than my desperate touch._

" _Edward, I can't," I manage to say, pulling my hand away. I mean to give a full sentence, a reason why, but all I get out is: "I want."_

 _He smiles a little and leans down over me, covering my body with his slowly. He's careful not to touch me, though, just hovering close enough to tease me._

" _What do you want?" he whispers against my temple. His lips are hotter than my burning skin. I feel the gentle sweep of his eyelashes against my hair as he closes his eyes._

" _You. I want you to touch me," I say._

I look for my clothes scattered across the floor of the bedroom, but he made sure I lost my dress and underwear rather quickly. They must still be in the living area.

I can't really remember the progression of things.

It's all just a blur of hands and teeth and lips.

I don't know what to wear though, to go out and face him. I'm certainly not bold enough to wear nothing, and using the sheet as a makeshift robe seems silly. So I opt for his wrinkled dress shirt on the floor.

It's a cliché, but I don't care.

It doesn't really work the way I thought it would. I'm just a bit too tall, so it barely covers me. But it'll have to do.

I stand for a moment at the floor-to-ceiling windows, marveling at the city below. It looks so different in the daylight, all pastels and cool colors. And then there's the white sand beaches and glimmering ocean beyond.

I make my way out into the living room and find Edward leaning against a window, talking on the phone. He's not wearing a shirt, just boxers, and since he's got his back to me, I see a tattoo on his left shoulder blade.

"I told you. I'd take care of it. Don't you have any faith in me?"

I pause, suddenly curious about things I shouldn't be.

"Yeah, whatever," he says to the person on the line. He takes the phone away from his ear and hangs up, turning to see me.

I smile a little, and he smiles back, tossing his phone carelessly onto the couch.

"Morning," he says, walking over to me.

" _You're not such a good girl now, are you?"_

I flush at the sound of his voice and reminders of last night.

He grabs my hips, pulls me close to him. His hands slip beneath the short hem of the shirt I'm wearing, touching my bare skin.

"What do all these mean?" I ask, touching some of the small tattoos he has scattered across his body, thrilling that I can do so.

"I'll tell you some time."

"Evasive as ever," I reply, laughing quietly.

He smirks and presses a quick kiss to my temple before letting me go.

* * *

 _Two Months Later_

"Shit," I mutter, searching for a Q-tip.

"What happened?" Rose asks, looking at me in the lighted, old-Hollywood style mirrors we do our makeup in every night.

"I keep messing up." I use the cotton swab to clean up the glitter liner that went astray.

"It's because you're tired," Allie says, straightening her violet-tinged hair. "You should do a line. It's what keeps me going."

I eye the white power on her vanity and shake my head. "I'm good, thanks."

"Yeah. Not everyone wants to be a cokehead like you," Maria says from the other side of the room. She's one of the other girls here—one I don't know too well. She keeps to herself, mostly. She's tall and leggy, Hispanic and easily the most beautiful one of us all.

"You don't know what you're missing," Allie mumbles, shrugging carelessly.

Maria shakes out her massive curls and puts on dark red lipstick. "I'll stick to a little E every now and then. That's what you do if you wanna be good, Bella."

"Don't listen to them," Rose tells me, rolling her eyes and lining her lips in the mirror.

"See. The reason why Rose is so high and mighty, B, is because she gets her Xanax legally." Allie runs her fingers through her newly straightened hair, eyeing her progress critically. "But we aren't all so fortunate to have a doctor that gives out antidepressants like candy."

"Shut the fuck up, Alice," Rose snaps. "Why do you have to tell everyone my fucking business?"

Allie just laughs. "Oh, don't get so uptight, Rosie. So you get depressed? So you've tried to kill yourself? I mean, who the fuck hasn't at this point, right?"

Rose stands up suddenly, knocking her chair back, and starts screaming. Allie screams right back, and the room is a warzone of profanity just like that.

The door opens before I can try to calm Rose down. Edward walks in, grabbing her arm. I think he asks her what's wrong, but I can barely hear over Allie's continual spew of hatred.

"I hate this fucking bitch, Edward!" Rose cries, turning towards him, hiding her face in his shirt.

"So typical," Allie mutters, rolling her eyes. "Run to Edward and get him to fight your fights for you."

"Shut the fuck up, Allie," he replies.

"Whatever. You can all go fuck yourselves," she snaps, tossing up her hands and marching out of the room. Maria trails her, looking completely bored of the entire situation.

"What happened?" Edward asks.

At first, I think he's asking Rose, but he's looking at me.

I was raised by hugging it out and gentle words of encouragement. Even when my parents were divorcing, I never remember them once arguing—at least not in front of me.

Conflict is foreign to me—horrifying, even.

My hand shakes a little as I push my hair behind my ear. "Um. Allie and Rose just got into it."

"She told everyone personal things, Edward. Things I don't want anyone knowing—" Rose hiccups, glancing up at him with tear-streaked makeup.

Something about the look she gives him is a stab to the gut, but I try to ignore it.

"It's okay." He holds her face between his hands, wiping away her tears. "Don't worry about her, all right? You know how she gets when she's strung out. Get yourself cleaned up."

Rose nods, wiping her nose with the back of her arm like a kid.

"You gonna be okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." He kisses her forehead and glances over at me. "Will you hang out with her for a while?"

I nod.

"Thanks." He glances back at Rose. "Look, Aro's here. He wants to see you both. So try not to keep him waiting."

"Okay," she says.

I just nod again.

Edward says something else, but I don't pay attention. Then he's gone, and I glance over to Rose, watching as she takes a seat at the vanity again and pretends nothing at all has happened.

"I'll be right back," I say hollowly. "I'm going to the bathroom."

"Okay." Rose meets my eyes in the reflection of her mirror. I see my lie hasn't convinced her at all, but she doesn't question me.

I run out into the hall, chasing after Edward.

"Hey."

He glances over his shoulder at me and hesitates. It's just for a split second but enough for me to notice, enough for it to irritate me. Because this is who he is: aloof, always a bit out of reach. He's here sometimes—when he's inside me, when he's pulling my hair, biting my neck. But most of the time, I'm chasing after him. He lets me get close and then dances out of the way.

I can't say I completely hate it.

In a lot of ways, I actually like it. I like that he's not overpowering and clingy the way some boys have been with me in the past. It always scared me off before we'd even go out on a date.

Edward is a balance. But he has me right on the edge, and sometimes, I'm afraid I'll fall off completely.

"Why does Aro want to see me?" I ask him.

He runs a hand through his hair. It's getting longer, messier. I told him I liked it between hot kisses and rough thrusts. "I have no clue."

"You don't?" I ask.

"He doesn't really tell me things unless I need to know them."

"Are you fucking Rose?"

If I expect the sudden turn in conversation to surprise him, it doesn't. He just exhales an impatient laugh and shakes his head.

"No."

"Do you want to?"

"If I wanted to, I'd have already fucked her."

I blow out a hurt breath, the weight of his words punching me. "You're kind of an asshole right now."

"I'm just being honest."

"That's a first."

He laughs again, but it's hardly a pleasant sound. "Grow up, Bella."

"You're a dick," I say, just to keep him here, in this moment, with me.

And it works.

He takes a deep breath and runs his hands more roughly through his hair. The small sign of irritation gives me a little too much satisfaction.

I've never been this kind of girl before.

But he makes me this way.

It's only fair I get under his skin a little.

"I knew you were going to be this way. I mean, you're a teenager for Christ's sake. I don't know what I expected," he says.

"Well, fuck you then. I'm sorry to be such a pain in the ass. I won't be a problem for you anymore." I turn and start back towards the dressing room, but Edward grabs my arm roughly, shoves me up against the wall. He's rough but not enough to hurt, just enough to get my heart pumping.

He grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. "I'm not fucking anyone else, okay?" He leans against me, his hips pressing into mine.

"Someone could see—" I say, glancing around the darkened hall.

His grip on my chin tightens. "Okay?" he clarifies.

"Okay," I say.

* * *

 **Because I live for writing arguments. That's probably what I enjoy writing the most, honestly. What kind of person does that make me? :/**

 **Love you guys! I'm so touched my how sweet and understanding y'all are. I truly, truly appreciate it. Because I know it totally sucks to wait for updates. There are a few stories I've been waiting a year plus for an update. And I know it blows. So I'm sorry. But thank you soooo much for sticking around, giving me another shot.**

 **Also, much love to Kim and Nic. You guys rock.**

 **oxoxox**


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